


until you return to me

by yutaa



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Art, Jealousy, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Reincarnation, Soulmates (implied), Spies & Secret Agents, Unrequited Love, again not graphic but please be careful!, don't be fooled by the summary this is still written in the third person hahaha, hopefully ive tagged enough so that ppl can avoid what they dont want to see!!, it's never explicitly explained but is definitely implied, it's.. reincarnation so that's where the major character deaths come in, please be careful if that's triggering!, pretty sure all dream members are mentioned at some point, some wayv cameos too :o, they don't stay dead for long but they each die Multiple Times, this fic truly goes everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yutaa/pseuds/yutaa
Summary: The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back.The next time, you are brunette, and you do.(or:25 lives, nomin version)
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 125
Kudos: 494
Collections: fics so beautiful i felt alive





	until you return to me

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the beautiful [25 lives](https://s2b2.livejournal.com/142934.html)
> 
> 2 quick notes:
> 
>   1. there's only one real explicit scene and it's skippable if u want! it starts from "but when all's said and done," and u can just look for "even though each time" and start reading from there ~
>   2. there's referenced suicide! it's tagged but to be extra extra careful i'm gonna put it here too: if you're squeamish with mentions of blood then i'd suggest skipping straight from "i hate those" to "but when all's said and done" (that's the scene that's explicit lol so skip both if u want ><). if u just want to avoid the suicide mention then u can skip from "i'm sorry i lied" !! 
> 

> 
> ok i think that's all! stay safe everyone <3 i promise the rest is mostly fluff ~

_The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don’t love me back._

“Renjun,” Jeno pants, throwing the door open. “You have to go. Right now.”

He stumbles into the prince’s bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. The sound of boots thundering down the hallways echo loudly above them, and Jeno winces, shoving a drawer towards the door to make it harder to open.

Renjun stares at him, wide-eyed and unharmed. Jeno swallows in visible relief, striding over to the window and peering outside.

The moonlight casts a ghostly shadow on the floor. Outside, the courtyard is still empty, a way out directly to the forest.

“They won’t catch you if you leave this way,” Jeno says. His lips flatten. “I should be able to hold them off for long enough.”

Renjun stills, hands pulling up his second shoe. “You’re not leaving?”

“Your highness,” Jeno says, avoiding Renjun’s eyes. “I can’t.”

“They’ll kill you,” Renjun breathes, ignoring the honorific. He finishes dressing and tugs his cloak on, fastening it at the throat.

Jeno tugs the window up. “It’s my duty,” he says, though his shoulders tremble. “Please. You have to go now.”

In the space between breaths, a single tear falls from Renjun’s eyes. His fingers touch Jeno’s cheek softly. “My knight,” he says. “My best friend. Thank you for everything.”

The sound of swords clashing grows closer, and the moment breaks. “Go,” Jeno hisses, and hoists Renjun through the window.

Renjun pulls his hood up. 

“May we meet again in the next life,” he says shakily, before turning and running through the garden, towards the forest. His silhouette fades to a tiny point on the horizon, until it is no longer visible. And just in time, too, as the sounds of bloodshed reach their peak outside of the prince’s bedroom door.

Jeno straightens behind the drawer in front of the door, pulling his sword out and shifting his weight forward. There’s a grunt as the door shudders underneath the weight of what sounds like dozens of men — then another, and one louder still, before the door explodes in a flash of heat and light. Jeno ducks as pieces of wood fly towards the side. Dozens of men crowd in, all of them wielding weapons and pointing them directly at him.

Another man walks in, sword in his hand and emblem of the rebels on his cloak. His eyes fly towards the bed — empty, sheets a mess — then to Jeno. Upon seeing Jeno’s sword, crest of the royal family on the hilt, his eyes narrow.

“Where is the prince,” he grits out.

And Jeno — stares.

 _It’s you_.

In the firelight, Jaemin’s hair is spun gold, glowing brighter than the moonlight from the window. His face is furious and his robes are bloody, but he is radiant nonetheless, and memories of a thousand _good mornings_ and _good nights_ float through Jeno’s mind when their eyes meet.

Jeno watches, dazed, as Jaemin’s lips open and shut. He’d kissed those lips — in the dark, robes tangling together; by the river, clothes wet and hands winding through each other’s hair; in bed, again and again, and sometimes, when they couldn’t wait, against the wall and on the floor too.

Sound filters back into his ears slowly, the glow of recognition dimming once he realizes that it isn’t reciprocated. Jaemin’s eyes are as hard as ever, stance forceful and threatening. The men, too, grow restless, unsatisfied grumbles of _royal scum_ and _traitor_ rising from the throng.

Jeno thinks of his duty, of the oath he swore to defend his country until his last breath, and he swears internally, looking away. The memories flooding him are relentless, just sweet enough that it _hurts_ to see nothing but callous indifference reflected in Jaemin.

He shakes his head to dissolve their phantom images, and steels his resolve.

“Gone,” he says, finally. He smirks, raising his sword. “I guess you’ll never know.”

Jaemin snarls, charging towards Jeno. Jeno sidesteps the first thrust, whirling around and stabbing two men who rush towards his back. He turns back around, ducking a club and kicking a table towards another wave of men on his side. Someone lands a hit against his ribs, and he staggers, clutching his stomach as his sword slices cleanly through his attacker.

It’s much easier to dodge Jaemin’s attacks, to dodge and parry in turn without actually landing any of his blows. It is as natural as it is to breathe, predicting Jaemin’s movements — a twitch of his right hand, and Jeno knows to duck to the left; a tightening of his eyebrows and Jeno immediately drops as Jaemin aims a kick at his body.

Still, Jeno is only human, and faced with so many opponents, his body grows tired, each thrust weaker than the one before. After one too many sloppy turns, his sword is knocked out of his hand, and he straightens, empty handed, to Jaemin’s sword against his neck.

“Don’t move,” Jaemin says against his ear, blunt end of the sword digging into his neck without breaking skin. Jeno stills, the line of Jaemin’s body at once a familiar weight and a cold reminder of reality. 

Jaemin gestures forward, and the rest of the men search the room thoroughly. He stares at Jeno, and cocks his head in consideration. 

“Take him in and make him talk.”

Jaemin comes by every night to ask the guards if they’ve broken Jeno yet. Jeno knows, because it’s like he has a sensor wired to Jaemin’s mere presence, body lighting up every time he steps into the prison.

He never talks to him, never even looks in his direction, but the sight alone is almost enough for Jeno break. 

Almost.

 _Look at me_ , he wants to beg. _See me_.

Jaemin never does, just comes and asks the guards for updates before leaving. He’s beautiful still, with his sunshine-kissed hair and dark eyes. He shines, and shines, and Jeno struggles to look away, even as he fades away by the day, bruises continuing to bloom on his skin for his refusal to speak and betray his people.

Jaemin isn’t there when he closes his eyes for the last time, but Jeno still sees him against the back of his eyelids before everything melts away into nothingness.

_The next time you are brunette, and you do._

Jeno is tidying books with one hand when the bell at the entrance twinkles. The lovely lady borrowing two books on myths from two kingdoms ago presses a few coins into his hand, insisting he take it as payment for alleviating her boredom. He thanks her with a small smile, tucking the coins in his box.

“I’ll return these to you when you come back with the books,” he calls out jokingly as she leaves, and the sound of her laughter hangs in the air as she steps out, waving him goodbye.

It’s quiet for a while, then, and Jeno fiddles with his pen before standing and deciding to tackle the categorization of the medical scrolls. So lost is he in squinting at the bookshelves, mouthing obscure ingredients to himself, that he completely misses the presence of another person in the library.

A stack of books land on the desk behind him with a dull thud, and he startles. 

“My apologies on the belated greetings,” he says, turning and bowing, eyes trained on the floor. His eyes rise to the book titles. Romance novels, he thinks, smiling to himself. And some of his favorites, too.

“You have good taste,” he says, before looking up to see _him_.

Jaemin’s hair is a soft brown this time, longer and curling around his ears. His eyes are wide, lips still soft and pretty, but Jeno doesn’t get to observe him for much longer because his mouth parts in shock and he falls toward Jeno, clutches him close and starts crying into his shoulder, incoherent apologies pouring from his lips.

A knot in Jeno’s chest loosens, slow but sure. 

“Darling,” Jeno says hesitantly, and Jaemin cries harder, shaking apart in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin pleads, again and again, in between breaths and hiccuping slightly. His hands tremble as he touches Jeno like he’s not real, touch light as he traces his body gently.

“Jeno,” Jaemin whispers reverently, looking up with glassy eyes. Jeno’s heart _aches_. “My love. I hurt you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jeno whispers back, and maybe he leans in first, or maybe Jaemin does, but they press closer together still as they finally, finally kiss. Jaemin is sweet like the sugar he loves, but this time, he tastes like regret and guilt and tears, and Jeno dives deeper, swallowing his whimpers until Jaemin is shivering in pleasure and not pain, warm and pliant in his arms.

“You hurt because of me,” Jaemin murmurs against Jeno’s mouth later, shushing Jeno’s response with his lips. His teeth tug at Jeno’s lower lip, gently, before he soothes it with his tongue. “This time, I will love you enough for both lives.”

Jaemin keeps his word, and in this life, he is bright and loving, even more so than usual. He visits Jeno every day, crowds him against the bookshelves and kisses him so thoroughly that both of their robes wrinkle, breaking apart only when the bell twinkles to look at the door mischievously before diving back in, thoroughly scandalizing some of Jeno’s regulars.

“Doesn’t your family wonder what you get up to all day?” Jeno asks amusedly one day, hands curled in Jaemin’s hair and stroking softly.

Jaemin hums, biting down on Jeno’s collarbone. Jeno hisses, and Jaemin hides a satisfied smile as red blooms on his skin, kissing his neck as a silent apology. He lets go of Jeno’s collar, then, and looks up.

“They’ve noticed I’m spending more time at the library, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, shrugging fluidly. “I think they’re just happy I’m studying more.”

“Studying,” Jeno says, snorting. “Darling, you haven’t finished a single book in months.”

“I’m studying you,” Jaemin retorts, lips curling upwards in a grin. His hands stray downwards, and he places one on Jeno’s inner thigh, a searing heat rocketing upwards through Jeno’s body. Jaemin looks up demurely through his eyelashes, licking his lips slowly. “Want me to show you how much I’ve learned?”

Needless to say, the conversation ends fairly abruptly when Jaemin’s mouth is otherwise occupied.

Before Jeno knows it, it’s the cusp of spring again, almost a full year after he’d met Jaemin this time around. The city swirls back into life, and spring brings with her the news of turmoil from the northern states. More and more soldiers appear on the streets, and the library, across from the blacksmith’s, gets a noteworthy handful of visits from them.

It is on one such occasion when Jeno is organizing the shelves and Jaemin is doing his best to distract him that Jeno drops a book, Jaemin catching it before it hits the floor and handing it back to him, rolling his eyes and reminding him to be more careful.

“Excuse me,” a foreign voice breaks into their conversation. Jeno turns, eyes raising at the stars sewn on the soldier’s uniform — the sign of a general.

“Sir,” he says, stepping off the stool and bowing. “How may I assist you today?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the general says, waving him aside. He looks at Jaemin consideringly before addressing him directly. “I just couldn’t help but notice how quickly you managed to save that book. Have you ever considered joining the army? With your reflexes, you could wield a sword easily with little training.”

Jaemin stiffens. He forces a smile, stepping backwards slightly and bowing his head.

“Thank you,” he says lightly. “But my heart has always been with the books.”

“A pity,” the general says, shaking his head and smiling. “But our country needs her scholars as much as it needs her soldiers. I wish you success in your studies.” He nods at them, before turning and stepping out of the door.

The rest of the afternoon, Jaemin is quieter than usual, and his smiles don’t reach his eyes. That night, when they make love, he clutches onto Jeno desperately, fingers digging into his back as he buries his face in Jeno’s neck, hiding away. His cries are soft and broken, and he muffles his mouth, only the smallest of sounds escaping like they’re being punched out of him as Jeno rocks into him. 

When he comes, it’s silent, tears sliding down his cheeks.

After, Jeno cleans him gently with a washcloth as he thumbs away his tears.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeno murmurs from his lap, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Jaemin shakes his head, pulling him closer and closing his eyes, pressing their heads together.

“Alright,” Jeno says, hands practiced and sure as he wrings the washcloth out and reaches out, setting it down to dry. He cups Jaemin’s face in his hands and kisses him, soft and close-mouthed.

“You know you have every part of me,” he whispers, pulling Jaemin down and throwing the covers over them. “Sleep now, darling.”

The next morning, Jeno wakes to the tickle of Jaemin’s hair underneath his nose, and he sighs, rolling over to look at him only to see Jaemin blink up at him, already awake.

Jeno frowns. “How long have you been awake?”

“Couldn’t really sleep,” Jaemin says softly, tugging Jeno back down. “I was thinking about before.”

Jeno stays quiet, waiting for Jaemin to continue.

Jaemin looks up, jaw set in a firm line of determination. “In this life,” he starts, reaching out to touch Jeno’s face tenderly, “my hands will never wield another sword.”

Jeno stills.

“Nor will I ever raise a weapon,” Jaemin says, voice growing quieter. “I swore to myself if I was lucky enough to have you again that I would never hurt you.”

The sunlight filters through the window, coloring strands of caramel in Jaemin’s hair. He smiles shakily. “I want you to remember me like this."

_After a while I give up trying to guess if the colour of your hair means anything,_

The next time, Jaemin has red hair, and he’s as beautiful as ever when he tells Jeno that he must be mistaken.

“How can you be in love with me?” Jaemin asks, smiling apologetically. “We’ve never even met.”

It’s when he meets Jaemin again on the streets of Paris, hair brunette and kissing a pretty girl underneath an umbrella meant for two, that he stops trying to guess the meaning behind his hair color. Jaemin is unpredictable, a whirlwind of blondes and brunettes and pinks and blues, but Jeno can’t help but fall for him, each and every time, regardless of whether Jaemin loves him back.

(Secretly, though, he can’t help the flicker of hope whenever he sees Jaemin with brown hair — the same color Jaemin had worn, that very first time, when he had looked at Jeno with a trembling smile and wet eyes and had whispered: _I want you to remember me like this._ )

_because even when you don’t exist, I’m always in love with you._

When Jeno is summoned to paint the portraits of the duke and duchess, he is allowed time in the portrait hall to familiarize himself with previous interpretations.

Their house is breathtakingly elaborate, but somber, and Jeno walks into the portrait hall quietly after the duchess, careful and quiet.

“This one, for example, is almost too dark,” the duchess says, pointing at the portrait from last year. The duke and duchess look magnificent and regal, proud strokes outlining their figures, but the background is too heavy, too realistic. Jeno nods, noting to mix in more whites and golds into his painting. The duchess points to another one, and together, they walk down the hall as she comments idly on each one.

They reach the end of the hallway, where a portrait hangs, covered in a dark black cloth. Jeno waits respectfully as she hesitates in front of this portrait, hands smoothing the cloth down.

“This one is the best,” she says, a hint of sadness entering her voice. “I suppose it would be good for you to see it.”

She reaches out, gathering the cloth, and pulls it downwards, and Jeno presses his lips together to prevent a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sure you know we lost our son to disease a few years ago,” the duchess says, eyes far away. “But this is one of our best portraits.”

There Jaemin is, barely a day over eighteen, standing tall and regal in between his mother and father. The painting is a few years older, some techniques evident in it not as popular today. Even in a painting, Jaemin is magnificent, and Jeno’s fingers tighten on his quill as he breathes unsteadily.

 _Forgive me, my love_ , he thinks. _I’ve come late._

“This one is almost perfect,” the duchess says quietly. “The only flaw is —”

“The eyes,” Jeno whispers.

The duchess startles, turning to Jeno.

“Yes,” she says slowly, drawing the cloth closer to her. “The eyes. You must be very talented in front of the canvas.”

Jeno blinks, realizing his words.

“My apologies,” he says formally, ducking his head slightly. “The painting is beautiful, but I couldn’t help but notice that they were a bit dull. This has been very helpful.”

“It’s all right,” the duchess replies. A heavy weight seems to settle over her as they look up at the portrait. “His smile never did reach his eyes.”

She offers the cloth to Jeno, and together, they cover the portrait back up. It drops over the painting with a soft thud, and they step out of the portrait hall without looking back.

(Jeno paints Jaemin into the background of the portrait as a cluster of white lilies in full bloom, right next to where he signs his name.)

_I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together_

Jeno is there when Jaemin is born, a curious three-month-old cradled in his mother’s hold. With the approval of Jaemin’s mother, Jeno is placed into Jaemin’s crib, and he reaches out immediately, patting at Jaemin’s hair. Jaemin, still sniffling tearfully, stops crying immediately when Jeno touches his face, eyes going wide and hiccuping cutely into Jeno’s face. Jeno scrunches his face, and they bat at each other, cheeks puffy and adorable.

Their mothers watch on, cooing at the way Jaemin latches onto Jeno’s hands, and before long, both babies fall asleep.

That’s the first picture ever taken of them — asleep, cuddled into each other, still holding hands with each other.

Jeno and Jaemin grow up together, the story of their friendship a family favorite — they make pretend campfires in each other’s backyards and fight pirates together in their living rooms. When they’re four, Jeno skins his knee riding his bicycle with Jaemin and doesn’t come to Jaemin’s house for a whole _week_ because he’s grounded. When he finally does come, pushing open the door quietly, Jaemin’s room is dark. There’s a sizable lump underneath the blankets, though, and it shifts when Jaemin hears the door open.

“Mom?” Jaemin says, voice still teary from crying. His head pops up from underneath the blankets, and his face is a mess, red and blotchy.

“You look terrible,” Jeno says, horrified. “Why are you crying?”

“Jeno!” Jaemin shrieks, jumping off his bed. He makes to tackle Jeno to the ground, before remembering his knee and halting in his tracks, fidgeting nervously.

“I’m sorry I got you grounded,” Jaemin says, still sniffling. “Will you still be my friend?”

“Duh,” Jeno says. “We’re best friends. And ‘sides, it’s not your fault.”

This, if anything, makes Jaemin's bottom lip tremble even more. His eyes fill with tears as he says, “I thought you were going to tell me you didn’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

Jeno rolls his eyes, kicking aside an action figure in his way and tackling Jaemin to the bed. “That’s stupid,” he says, mouth mushed into Jaemin’s shoulder. “We’re best friends forever, and forever is a long time.”

“Long enough to last for the rest of our lives?” Jaemin asks weakly.

“Longer than that,” Jeno says into Jaemin’s shirt. He pulls back to look Jaemin in the eye. “It’s _forever_.”

The first day of school, Jaemin hides behind Jeno during introductions, offering a weak “I’m Jaemin” to the teacher from behind Jeno’s back. During nap time, he puts his mat out right next to Jeno’s, and he follows Jeno around from recess to snack time to the end of the day. School is scary. Jeno is safe.

The next day, though, a girl comes up directly to Jaemin during coloring time and sits right next to him.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Jiwon.”

“Hi Jiwon,” Jaemin says back shyly. “I’m Jaemin.”

“Jaemin, can you pass me the blue?” Jeno asks, focused on his drawing. Without even missing a beat, Jaemin’s hand uncurls around the blue marker, passing it over to Jeno. His drawing is finished, anyway.

“I like your drawing,” Jiwon says earnestly. “What’s it about?”

“Really?” Jaemin says, smiling down at his paper. “It’s me and Jeno fighting this big, green dragon.” He points at the lines of red and yellow coming from one corner of the drawing. “Those are flames, for the dragon.”

“It’s so cool,” Jiwon says, listening attentively. She scoots a little closer, and points to something else. “What’s this part?”

Jiwon is the first of many, many, _many_ girls that develop a hopeless crush on Jaemin.

It only gets worse when middle school comes and Jaemin hits a growth spurt, suddenly taller than most other boys in their grade. He has a pretty, pretty smile, and girls swoon over it when he laughs, during lunch and during class, shoulders shaking next to Jeno’s as his hair flops into his eyes.

The first time a girl confesses to Jaemin is in the seventh grade, fingers sweaty on the box of chocolates as she bows in front of him hastily and thrusts it towards him.

“Um,” Jaemin says, looking panickedly at Jeno.

“It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings,” she rushes, straightening up. “I just wanted you to know.”

Jaemin winces. “Thanks,” he says gently, “did you make these yourself?”

The girl nods hurriedly, her lower lip already trembling. Jaemin sighs, pulling her into a hug. “I really do appreciate it.”

“I get it,” she says, pulling back. She tries to smile. “You don’t have to say it. Thank you for being so nice.”

After she leaves, Jaemin looks at Jeno, hands awkwardly holding the box of chocolates. Jeno raises an eyebrow.

“Wanna split these with me?” Jaemin asks, waving the chocolates. “I definitely can’t finish them by myself.”

After that, it happens almost every week. Valentine’s Day is the worst, Jaemin’s locker crammed full of glittery pink notes and chocolates. Every year on Valentine’s, Jaemin takes one look at his locker and drags Jeno away to an empty classroom, dreading the thought of rejecting so many gifts.

Jaemin never accepts any confessions, and every time he rejects them with a soft smile and a warm hug, Jeno breathes a little easier.

He asks him, once, if he would ever consider accepting a confession, and Jaemin scrunches his nose, tilting his head cutely.

“I don’t know,” he says simply, finally, taking Jeno’s hand. “Don’t be worried. You’ll always have me, anyway.”

He doesn’t mean it that way — Jeno _knows_ he doesn’t — but it doesn’t stop Jeno’s heart from skipping a beat.

It ends up not mattering anyway, not when Jiwon confesses to Jaemin in the ninth grade and he comes back over with her lip gloss on his cheek and the smell of her perfume on his collar.

“I can’t believe she likes me,” Jaemin says later, when they’re doing homework on Jeno’s bed. His eyes sparkle as he smiles shyly at his phone screen, heart emojis visible from afar, and Jeno can _feel_ his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.

_When you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me_

The next summer, Jeno joins the high school soccer team. He shows up on the first day, a random decision made in the heat of the moment when Jaemin texts him that he can’t hang out, he’s on a date with Jiwon.

He’s restless on the field, cleats digging in angrily to the grass, and he lets it all out on the ball, landing wicked shots from the thirty-yard line. By the end of practice, the coach all but begs Jeno to join the team, offering him the chance to start their games as their forward.

Jeno opens his mouth, ready to deny him, but his phone dings again before he can speak.

 **Jaemin**  
11:36 am  
_don’t be mad_  
_but i might have to take a rain check tmrw :((_  
_forgot jiwon got us tickets to this museum opening_  
_ik i’ve been flaking all week i promise next week i’m all urs_  
_ily_

Jeno huffs out a breath, locking his phone and leaving him on read. He looks back up to the coach.

“I’m down,” he says, pocketing his phone. “When’s our next practice?”

Everything moves quickly afterwards, practices and training matches taking up more and more of his free time. It’s easy to forget to tell Jaemin, who’s busier anyway because of Jiwon, and it’s not until right before school starts when they’re discussing their schedules for the next year that he mentions offhandedly that they can’t keep doing homework together after school.

“Wait,” Jaemin says, straightening. They’re in their favorite place for brunch, playing on their phones while they wait for the food to arrive. “Why not?”

“What,” Jeno says, looking up at him.

“You said we couldn’t hang out after school anymore,” Jaemin says, looking at him accusingly. “What do you mean, _what_.”

Jeno blinks, before his mouth widens. “Oh,” he says. “The soccer team has practice every day after school.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Jaemin asks exasperatedly. He taps something on his phone. “Did you join the soccer team and not tell me or something?”

There’s no response from Jeno, and Jaemin looks up to see him looking guiltily down at the table.

“Are you serious?” Jaemin asks, putting his phone down and looking at Jeno properly. “You joined the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Jeno says, avoiding his eyes. He picks at the napkin in front of him. “Like a couple of weeks ago.”

Jaemin flattens his lips, feeling an ugly feeling grow inside of his chest. “Why didn’t you…” _tell me?_

“...say something,” he finishes weakly. “Were you trying to hide it from me?”

“Hey,” Jeno says, slipping onto the other side of the booth. He takes Jaemin’s hands, and Jaemin lets him, feeling vulnerable and hurt. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.” He squeezes Jaemin’s hand and sighs, looking down at their entwined fingers.

“I just haven’t seen you as much this summer,” Jeno mutters finally. “I thought about texting you the day I joined, but you were...busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. I guess I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I’m sorry.”

If anything, the reminder of how little time they spent together this summer makes Jaemin feel worse. “That’s my fault,” he says, voice small. “I’ve been a shitty best friend, haven’t I?”

“Nana, _no_ ,” Jeno says, tilting Jaemin’s head up so that he’s looking directly into his eyes. “You’re still my best friend, no matter what. It’s my fault too. I’m sorry.”

Jaemin’s lip quivers, and he can feel wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes. Jeno sighs, well aware of the signs that Jaemin’s about to burst into tears, and he gathers Jaemin into a hug.

“Don’t cry,” Jeno says, and that’s what does it — Jaemin clings on tightly and sniffs, tears stinging at his eyes and blurring his vision. Jeno makes a hurt noise, feeling his shirt get wet, and he tightens his grasp, murmuring quietly into Jaemin’s ear.

Their food arrives, then, and Jaemin ducks further into Jeno’s hold, embarrassed.

“Thanks,” Jeno says, smiling softly at the waitress, and she gives them a warm smile and a knowing look as she leaves both portions on their side of the table.

“Come on,” Jeno says, shaking Jaemin’s shoulder gently, and Jaemin surfaces reluctantly, still blinking rapidly and wiping at his eyes. “You love their waffles.”

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jaemin says later, one hand still holding onto Jeno’s. “Text me your schedule for the season, okay? I’m going to every single game.”

Jaemin keeps his promise, and he stays at school for every single one of his practices, doing his homework in the library or napping in the lounge until they’re over. Every single day, without fail, Jeno walks out of the locker room after showering to find Jaemin propped against the wall outside the locker room, keys swinging from his fingers and fiddling on his phone, waiting so they can drive home together.

Jaemin goes to all of their matches, too, even the practice ones — a beam of strength and reassurance every time Jeno looks at the stands. He makes posters and decorates them with Jeno’s name and number, and cheers louder than anyone else when their team scores.

A couple weeks into the school year, Jaemin tells Jeno that he and Jiwon have broken up. 

“She told me it was you or her,” he says, raw and open. They’re in his room, sprawled across the bed. Jaemin looks at Jeno nervously. “But you’re my _best friend_. I didn’t know what to tell her.”

Jeno melts, and he hugs Jaemin close for a long, long time. He doesn’t say anything — he doesn’t have to. Jaemin gets it; he always has.

(But somewhere deep inside, his traitorous heart jumps, and a tiny part of him wonders if it means anything that they’d broken up because of _him_.)

After joining the soccer team, Jeno’s popularity skyrockets, their team going from the worst in the league to one of the best. Suddenly, his locker becomes a popular place for girls to confess to _him_ , with Jaemin standing beside him comfortingly as he stutters through his first attempt to reject someone.

“Help,” Jeno says afterwards, pulling Jaemin closer and collapsing in his hold. “That was so awkward. I feel terrible. How did you do this every week, oh my god.”

Jaemin laughs softly. “You were really sweet to her,” he says, rubbing comforting circles on Jeno’s back. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault.”

So life goes on. Junior year, their team makes it to the playoffs, and the whole school is abuzz with excitement. Turnout at their games is higher than ever, and they all thrive on the energy, playing better and scoring higher than ever. After they win quarterfinals, there’s a scramble to prepare for semifinals, and practices get longer and more grueling.

Still, every time practice ends, Jaemin is there with his water bottle, frowning at Jeno’s obvious exhaustion but not wanting to argue. He purses his lips, slinging an arm over Jeno and half-carrying, half-dragging him to the car.

“You really need to rest more,” he grumbles, letting Jeno play his indie playlist on the drives home without complaining like he usually does. Jeno hums, half-asleep already, and Jaemin sighs.

That night, Jaemin comes over again, slipping into Jeno’s bedroom easily. He slides under the covers and turns his hand upwards, fingers linking with Jeno’s, and they hold hands quietly.

“Go to sleep,” Jaemin whispers, brushing hair from Jeno’s forehead out of his eyes. “I’m here.”

The next morning, Jaemin wakes up early, coaxing Jeno out of bed with the promise of pancakes. They pad over to Jaemin’s house in their pajamas, and Jeno does his homework on the kitchen counter while Jaemin cooks.

“Thanks for last night,” Jeno says, breaking the easy silence. He flushes, remembering the position that they’d slept in.

“You know you don’t need to thank me,” Jaemin says, waving the spatula around carelessly. “We sleep better with each other. I want you to sleep more. It’s literally that simple.”

“Still,” Jeno says. “I know we haven’t spent as much time together because of playoffs.” He hesitates, then, before reaching out and touching Jaemin’s shoulder.

“Come over tomorrow too?”

Jaemin’s exhales amusedly. “Of course,” he says, looking back at Jeno, smile playing at his lips. “Best friends forever, remember?”

It’s hard to pinpoint a particular moment where Jeno starts remembering. It doesn’t come instantly, he thinks. Instead, bits and pieces drift in over the years, vivid dreams that he wakes up from, again and again, until he realizes that they’re not dreams but memories.

It’s easy to put the pieces together after that. It’s also obvious that Jaemin hasn’t realized it yet, and Jeno resolves not to say anything unless he brings it up first. More than anything else, Jeno thinks fiercely, Jaemin deserves the chance to be normal.

So of course, that’s when everything changes.

It starts like this:

“I like you,” Renjun says, cheeks flushed and head bowed, the first boy to confess to Jeno.

Beside Jeno, Jaemin’s jaw drops.

“I don’t even know if — if you’ll accept this. Me.” Renjun raises his head defiantly. “But I hope you don’t think any less of me if you don’t understand.”

Jeno’s heart sinks. He’d recognized Renjun soon after remembering Jaemin, a strange kind of relief passing through him to see that he was safe and well. In this life, Renjun is as kind-hearted and funny as ever, one of the most talented musicians in their school. He’s also very, very attractive — a combination that definitely would have caught his interest had he not been hopelessly in love with Jaemin.

Jeno looks over at Jaemin, and he takes Renjun by the hand, moving down the hallway.

“Renjun,” Jeno says, once he’s sure they’re far enough away that Jaemin can’t hear what they’re saying. “I’m sorry, I — I can’t. It’s not you, but...”

“But you’re not into boys,” Renjun says shakily. “It’s cool, Jeno. I understand.”

“No!” Jeno bursts out, squeezing Renjun’s hands. “That’s not it, I swear. You’re an amazing guy, and you’d probably have a chance if I didn’t like…”

He swallows, looking at Jaemin and lowering his voice. “If I didn’t like someone else.”

Renjun follows his eyes and his lips part in surprise. “You — he — but he’s straight, isn’t he? He dated Jiwon last year?”

“Yeah,” Jeno says. He laughs weakly. “Trust me, I know.”

Off to the side, Jaemin watches them talk to each other. His eyes dart back and forth as Jeno leans in and whispers something in Renjun’s ear, and a sympathetic look comes over Renjun’s face. An uncomfortable feeling bubbles in him at Jeno’s hands, still grasping Renjun’s, and his face darkens even more as Jeno smiles when Renjun leans up and whispers something back.

He pushes himself off the row of lockers and starts walking over.

“Well, you have my number now,” Jaemin hears from Renjun as he strides closer. “Text me, okay?”

Renjun looks up and sees Jaemin coming their way, smiling wanly. “I’ll leave then,” he says, before waving to Jeno and walking off.

Later finds them in Jeno’s room after dinner, with Jeno making his way through a math worksheet and Jaemin trying to pretend like he isn’t hyper aware of every time Jeno’s phone goes off. He puts his pencil down, frowning as Jeno’s phone dings again.

“You can turn that off if it’s bothering you,” Jeno says without looking up. Jaemin huffs, grabbing Jeno’s phone and flicking the ringer off.

He’s about to put it back when the screen lights up with another new notification. Jeno has three texts from _renjunnie_ — well, four now — and Jaemin instantly feels ten times worse.

He throws the phone back over and crosses his arms self-consciously. “About earlier today,” he starts.

Jeno hums.

Jaemin pauses for a while, unsure of how to approach the subject, and Jeno looks up after a period of silence, sensing his mood. He pushes his math homework to the side, scooting over and plopping himself down in Jaemin’s lap as he throws a reassuring arm around Jaemin’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Jeno says gently. “What is it?”

Jaemin frowns. “With Renjun in the hallway,” he says, letting the sentence hang as a question.

Jeno shifts uncomfortably in Jaemin’s lap.

“Well?” Jaemin presses.

Jeno looks up nervously. “What would you say if I said yes?”

“I’d —” _kill Renjun myself_ , Jaemin thinks viciously, then startles at his own thoughts. “I’d support you, of course,” he says, slower. The words taste like ash on his tongue, but he grits his teeth and forces them out anyway. “You’re still my best friend, even if you have a girlfriend...or boyfriend.”

Jeno’s eyes melt, though he still looks sad when he tugs Jaemin’s hands towards him. “I said no,” he says quietly, playing with Jaemin’s fingers. “Told him I already like someone else.”

Jaemin, beginning to relax, stiffens again. “Someone _else_?” He says incredulously. “Who?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jeno mutters. “You know him.”

Jealousy flares up in Jaemin, and his hands tighten around Jeno’s. “Someone I know,” he says faintly. Faces flash through his mind at lightning speed. Someone from the soccer team. Impossible. Half of them have girlfriends, and Jeno doesn’t even _like_ the other half. Someone from their classes, then?

Suddenly, Renjun’s sympathetic face from earlier floats into his mind. “Does Renjun know who it is?”

Jeno’s silence is answer enough, and Jaemin drops Jeno’s hands.

“So you can tell Renjun, who you’ve never even talked to outside of class,” Jaemin says accusingly, “but you can’t tell me?”

“Please,” Jeno whispers. He reaches out for Jaemin’s hand, but Jaemin pulls away. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m _upset_ ,” Jaemin says, hurt. “I thought we were best friends. Why can’t you just tell me? Do you not trust me or something? Is it Xiaojun? Donghyuck?”

“Stop,” Jeno pleads.

Jaemin’s head hurts. His eyes burn, and he forces the tears back, jealousy and self-doubt opening a wide chasm inside of his chest, right next to his heart. “You can’t,” he says.

“Can’t what?” Jeno asks cautiously.

“You can’t like anyone else,” Jaemin whispers helplessly, confused. “You _can’t_. You’re — that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

He looks at Jeno, then, and comes closer, slotting their fingers back together. “What about me?” He whispers to himself.

Jeno stops breathing.

“I don’t understand,” he says shakily. He blinks rapidly, but Jaemin is still there, the look on his face at once familiar and foreign. “What do you mean?”

Jaemin’s silent for a long time, staring at their hands. Slowly, his eyes slide to Jeno’s face, and his face crumples at what he sees.

“Lee Jeno,” Jaemin whispers brokenly, bringing their hands up and kissing his ring finger softly, eyes still fixated on Jeno’s. “How many more lifetimes are you going to let yourself suffer?”

Then, he leans in and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

This time, Jeno is the one who cries, breaking down in Jaemin’s arms. “I wanted you to have a normal life,” he says, voice wet and small. “I could’ve lived this life just being your friend. It’s already so much longer than we typically get.”

“Stupid,” Jaemin says, eyes wet too. He kisses the corner of Jeno’s mouth and tightens his grip. “As if any life would be worth living without you.”

_I love how you play along with my bad ideas,_

“This is a terrible idea,” Jaemin hisses, pants halfway down in an empty classroom. “We’re graduating in an half an hour.”

“Mm,” Jeno replies, kissing down his neck and cupping his underwear. Jaemin jerks, already half-hard, and Jeno smirks.

“You were saying?” He asks, slipping a hand inside his underwear and dropping to his knees.

“Fuck,” Jaemin pants. “Don’t stop, oh my god. I hate you.”

“I don’t think that’s what you meant,” Jeno says, hand twisting wickedly. “Try again.”

“God — fuck, do that again — I love you, I love you, you know I love you,” Jaemin says breathlessly, throwing his head back. “And your hands. And your mouth. Maybe even more if it was on me _right now_.”

“You were the one saying this was a terrible idea,” Jeno says innocently, before swallowing him whole.

They make it to graduation on time, of course, Jeno licking his lips smugly after just ten minutes. And if Jaemin’s fingers leave imprints on his neck — well. Their graduation robes have high enough collars, he thinks to himself, quietly pleased. They’ll be fine.

_before you grow up and realize they’re bad ideas._

“Absolutely not,” Jaemin snaps. “I know what that look on your face means, Lee Jeno, and I’m not falling for it today. It might’ve worked on me in high school, but it’s been _years_. You are not blowing me in the bathroom right before we get married.”

He laughs helplessly at the pout on Jeno’s face, tugging him closer and kissing him chastely on the cheek. “You’re not even supposed to be here,” he says, pulling back. “Go back to your waiting room before they realize you’re missing.”

“Can’t a man want to see his fiancé,” Jeno snarks back sulkily.

Jaemin rolls his eyes lovingly, patting Jeno on the cheeks. “Our honeymoon is literally tonight,” he says. “A few more hours, and you can take your husband to bed for as long as you want.”

He flutters his eyelashes at Jeno. “But we have to get married first.”

“Mm, my husband,” Jeno says, reeling Jaemin closer and kissing him thoroughly. “I like the sound of that.”

Jaemin flushes prettily, ducking his head and pushing Jeno towards the door.

“Go away,” he whines. “Now we have to redo my lips.”

_(And in our times together I have many, many bad ideas.)_

Jeno sneezes again.

Jaemin looks at him worriedly. “Have you been taking your allergy meds?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Jeno says, sniffing again. On his chest sits Bongsik, the cat they adopted three years ago. He pets her lovingly. “I want more.”

Jaemin sighs, exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re allergic,” he says flatly. “You could literally die. And where does that leave me? Alone with Bongsik, who’d probably still fight me for the covers on the bed.”

“Bongsikie would never,” Jeno says. His eyes water, and he looks up at Jaemin hopefully. “Just one more? Maybe two?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jaemin grumbles. “You’re not crying. I know it’s just your allergies.”

Still, Jaemin surprises Jeno with Seol and Nal for his birthday a few months later, and Jeno cries.

“It’s the allergies,” he says, wiping at his eyes valiantly, turning to hug Jaemin after Seol and Nal fall asleep. Jaemin hums, indulging him, and his arms come up to wrap around Jeno. 

He buries his face into Jaemin’s shoulder. “God, I love you so much.”

Years later, when they decide it’s time for them to renew their vows for their 25th anniversary, Jaemin drops down onto one knee in the middle of dinner one night and says, seriously, “Jeno, it’s me or the cats.”

The restaurant goes quiet. Someone in the booth behind them gasps.

Jeno sets down his fork and stands, heart overflowing with love. “Twenty-five years and you’re still as dramatic as ever,” he murmurs, tugging Jaemin up and kissing him breathlessly. “You’d never make me choose.”

Jaemin tastes like the dessert wine they’d ordered for dinner, sugar-sweet and rich, and when Jeno leans in to kiss him again, his smile is bright and radiant against Jeno’s lips. 

The end, when it comes, is drawn-out and serene, one last shuddering breath before the vastness of the universe embraces them once again.

 _Thank you_ , Jeno thinks faintly, _for giving me this_. His fingers tighten around Jaemin’s on the last night, thumbing their wedding rings, worn smooth by the passage of time.

“Jaemin,” he whispers, voice tired and fond. Jaemin hums in reply. “I think this is one of my favorites.”

“Every life with you is my favorite,” Jaemin murmurs back sleepily. “I promise I’ll only ever love you more than I already do, even if I don’t realize it myself.”

“I believe you,” Jeno says softly. 

_Forever_.

_When we meet as adults you’re always much more discerning. I don’t blame you._

“Freeze.”

Jeno turns around slowly, mask covering all but his eyes, and a figure walks out of the shadows, gun trained on him.

Jeno laughs dryly. “Dude, we both have guns. You think that’s going to stop me?”

“Fair enough,” the man says, tilting his head. He points to the rafters above them. “But my partner’s somewhere up there with his sniper on your head, so maybe you’ll think twice before knocking me out.”

A current of uneasiness runs through Jeno, and his gaze sharpens.

“Look,” he says. “I don’t know who you are, but business is business. I’m just following orders.”

“We’re following orders too,” the man says, grinning. “Unfortunately, we were hired to protect your mark, so I’m gonna need you to step aside.”

He pulls the trigger, then, but Jeno is faster — ducking to the left and sweeping his legs out from underneath him. Jeno knocks his gun out of his hands, and they wrestle, the man pulling his mask down while he aims blows at Jeno’s face. 

Jeno grunts, shoving down with his elbow and pinning him down to the ground, hands around his throat. Eventually, the other guy stops struggling, kicks growing weaker as he runs out of air, so Jeno lets go, socking him hard in the face.

He checks his pulse carefully. The guy’s alive but out like a light, and he releases a breath, standing and pocketing the other gun. “Hey,” he calls out, looking warily at the ceiling. “You gonna try to kill me too?”

Jeno strains his ears, listening for another person’s breaths, but it’s quiet. Jeno frowns. The other guy could’ve been bluffing about a partner, he thinks, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“I know you’re there,” Jeno says, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. “I’ll drop my gun if you drop yours.”

There’s a pause, before he hears a familiar laugh from behind him. “I’m not stupid.”

Jeno stiffens, whirling around. It’s still too dark to see anything in the warehouse, but he can see a blurry movement above him to his left.

His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears. “You’re not mad I took your friend out?” He asks.

“Why would I be?” The voice responds, the playful lilt confirming his suspicions. “He wasn’t exactly the nicest guy.”

Jeno exhales sharply, dropping his gun. “Come here,” he says, voice shaking.

“Pocket.”

Jeno laughs wetly, pulling the other gun from his pocket and kicking it across the floor. “Smart.”

There’s a clatter as Jaemin leaps down, rifle still trained on Jeno. He pauses, five feet away, and he looks at Jeno calculatingly.

“Not afraid I’m gonna shoot you?”

“I’d let you,” Jeno whispers, frozen in place. “It really is you.”

Jaemin presses his lips together tightly, before unslinging his rifle and dropping it. “Yeah,” he murmurs, bridging the last few feet and cupping Jeno’s face in his hands. “You would, you absolute idiot.”

_Yet, always, you forgive me._

“What if I didn’t remember,” Jaemin says accusingly, later, jabbing at Jeno’s chest. “You would’ve been totally defenseless. I really didn’t even know it was you until he tore your mask down,” he continues, upset. “There are so many ways this could’ve gone wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jeno says, blinking up at Jaemin. His heart aches, years of longing and nostalgia still not enough to prepare him for the weight of Jaemin in his lap again. “I was ready for you to shoot me when I heard your laugh.”

Jaemin’s face crumples. “Don’t even say that,” he whispers, drawing Jeno in and kissing him desperately. He pulls back, and the corners of his eyes are wet. “You have to stop putting me above yourself. Especially this time.”

“How can I?” Jeno smiles helplessly. “I love you.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about last time,” Jaemin shoots back. “I had to live the rest of my life alone, and I’m not doing it again. If you do something stupid this time I’ll shoot you first, and then myself.”

Jaemin slumps, anger rushing out of him at Jeno’s eyes, soft and apologetic. “I love you too,” he finishes weakly. “Don’t make me live without you.”

“I’m sorry I left you first,” Jeno murmurs, leaning in and seeking out Jaemin’s mouth, soft and swollen from how long they’d kissed. “Forgive me?”

Jaemin shudders as Jeno’s tongue presses in again, licking into his mouth and stealing all of his complaints away. Jeno’s hands tighten around his waist, and he scrambles closer, hands coming up around Jeno’s neck.

He breaks away to respond, lightheaded and dizzy from the kiss.

“Always,” he breathes, before diving back in. 

This life is messy and short, but it doesn’t matter, because at least they get to die in each other’s arms. How romantic, Jaemin thinks faintly, as his heartbeat slows. Just like the movies.

_As if you understand what’s going on and you’re making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist_

See, the problem is this: it never gets easier, explaining that you’re in love with someone who might not even _exist_.

This time around, it’s Mark — one of those guys that’s just genuinely _nice_ — which is why Jeno feels so terrible about having to turn him down.

They’d met in biology lab, seeing each other every Tuesday and Thursday at 8:30 am, and when Mark had found out that Jeno just transferred, he’d immediately volunteered to be his lab partner.

“I gotcha,” he had said, clasping a reassuring hand around Jeno’s shoulders. “This is my third year battling absolute hell — I mean, bio lab, hahaha.”

So yeah. Lab partners. Jeno doesn’t miss the way Mark blushes every time he smiles at him, or how he stares at him when they’re working and laughs nervously when he gets caught. It’s hard to say anything, too, when Mark is just so sweet, offering to take him out to dinner to “show him where the good restaurants are!” So when Mark invites him to his dorm for the first time to finish one of their lab writeups, warning bells sound in Jeno’s head.

Mark wilts when Jeno hesitates, though, and he eventually agrees, praying to anyone listening that Mark wouldn’t try to confess. Mark really is a good person, Jeno thinks, sighing, and he doesn’t want to lose him as a friend.

“Um,” Mark says nervously, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, this is my dorm. Sorry it’s a bit messy right now. Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’m good,” Jeno says, toeing off his shoes and shooting him a smile. Mark flushes immediately, cheeks going red, and stammers through an “I’ll get you a glass of water” before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Jeno sighs defeatedly, sitting down on the couch and pulling his computer out. Mark had promised that his roommate would stay in his own room and not bother them, texting furiously on their way over, but at the rate things were going, Jeno was kind of hoping he would just walk in or something.

Mark returns with his glass of water, jumping when Jeno takes it and their fingers touch.

“Woah,” Jeno says. “None of that spilled on you, right?”

“Nope,” Mark says, high-pitched and nervous. “I’m all good!”

 _God save me_ , Jeno thinks mournfully, but he smiles back at Mark.

“So about the cells…” he starts.

An hour later, all that’s left is the conclusion, and Jeno lays back on the couch, stretching.

“We made really good progress,” he says, satisfied. “I feel like we can finish writing this on our own if we have to.”

“Yeah,” Mark replies, distracted. “Oh, sorry. Yeah! We got through a lot in a short time.”

He turns to Jeno, fingers twisting nervously. “You know, I’m actually really glad we’re lab partners,” he says. “Not just lab partners, haha. Like we’re really good friends now, too, and I feel like we work really well together, you know?”

“Um,” Jeno says eloquently. _Oh no._ He forces a smile. “Yeah, I’m really glad we met too. Thanks for taking me around and stuff. I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”

Mark’s smile dims a bit when Jeno says “friend”, but he takes a deep breath, pushing forward.

From somewhere behind them, a door creaks open. _This is seriously the worst timing_ , Jeno thinks mournfully. _Now all his friends are gonna think I’m an asshole_.

“Jeno,” Mark says seriously. “I really like you. Would you —”

His voice cracks, and he swallows nervously, but keeps going. “Would you give me a chance and let me take you out on a date?”

A glass shatters behind them, and they turn around.

“What the fuck,” Mark breathes, alarmed. “Jaemin, are you okay?”

When Jaemin winces, cut on his hand from the broken glass, Mark springs into action, giving them a concerned glance.

“Can you get him to the couch?” He asks in a hurry, looking at Jeno. “I’m gonna go get the first aid kit from the bathroom.”

He leaves, and Jeno stands up immediately. “ _Jaemin_ ,” he says reverently.

Jaemin takes a shuddering breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “You,” he says brokenly, tears sliding down his face. “Are an _asshole_. I thought you were never coming back.”

He collapses against the wall. “You weren’t here last time, or the time before that. I thought I was going crazy.”

“I’m here now,” Jeno says, stepping gingerly over the glass and kneeling in front of Jaemin. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t _here_ ,” Jaemin insists, sobs wracking his body. He opens his eyes, looking up at Jeno carefully like he’s tucking every detail away into his memory. “I thought I lost you forever.”

“I’m here,” Jeno says, eyes stinging. “I’m real. I promise.”

Jaemin whimpers, surging forward. There’s no finesse or elegance to it — it’s rough and wild, the first in three lifetimes of yearning and heartbreak, and their teeth clash as Jaemin pours himself desperately into the kiss. He’s shaking, still, trembling in Jeno’s arms even as he anchors himself down and falls, losing himself in the way Jeno tastes. His tears spill over, again and again, and he just presses harder, deeper, fingers tightening painfully around Jeno.

“Um,” Mark says from afar, first aid kit in his hands. They break apart, Jaemin looking over dazedly. “I guess you guys have...met?”

Jeno recovers first, blushing and pulling back awkwardly. Jaemin makes a hurt noise, reaching out, and Jeno takes his hand hurriedly, ducking his head to whisper to him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, and Jaemin relaxes, though his hands still grip tightly onto Jeno’s. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

Jaemin nods slowly, getting up with Jeno. Together, they avoid the glass shards and make their way to the coach, where Mark is still hovering awkwardly.

“So,” Jeno says, biting his lip. He looks up at Mark. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

_and the ones where we just, barely, never meet._

“So basically, you guys are soulmates or something.”

Jeno shrugs with one shoulder, Jaemin’s head resting on the other. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“I feel like soulmates wouldn’t have such shitty luck though,” Jaemin says, voice still hoarse from crying. “Like, okay, once, fine. Whatever. But two lives in a row? I literally went insane. Like, psychiatric ward insane.”

Jeno frowns, fingers stilling in Jaemin’s hair. “You don’t have to tell us what happened if you don’t want to,” he says.

Jaemin shudders. “Everybody told me you weren’t real. That I was just hallucinating, and that everything would go back to normal if I just let you go.” He shifts, and laughs wetly into Jeno’s shoulder. “I drove myself off a bridge. I jumped off a building. And every single time I woke up in that fucking psychiatric ward. I just wanted it to _end_.”

Mark blinks, visibly overwhelmed.

Jaemin sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“Don’t be,” Jeno murmurs, tilting his head up and kissing him sweetly. He pulls back, heart aching at Jaemin’s expression. “You shouldn’t have to carry these burdens alone, you know?”

Mark coughs, embarrassed.

“Oh,” Jaemin says. He turns to Mark. “Fuck. I really ruined your date, didn’t I? God, I’m sorry. I know how much you liked cute bio boy.”

“Cute bio boy?” Jeno repeats, mouth curling upwards. “Is that me? I didn’t even have a name?”

“Stop teasing him,” Jaemin says weakly, punching Jeno in the shoulder. “Mark was so worried we’d scare you away or something. Didn’t even want to tell us your name.”

“No?” Mark squeaks, flushing all the way to his ears. “I mean, yes? I mean, obviously you have a name. It’s okay, Jaemin.”

He forces a smile, but it’s still genuine. “It’s kind of hard to compete with so many lifetimes, right? Like yeah, it sucks, but it’s just a crush. I’ll get over it.”

“This is so crazy,” Jeno says, laughing quietly. “You guys really had no idea?”

“As if I would’ve encouraged him to take you all over town if I’d known who you were,” Jaemin says. He sniffs, and Mark very nicely passes him another tissue. “I would’ve shown up to your lab myself and dragged you back here.”

Two months later, they’re grabbing coffee together when Jeno tugs at Jaemin.

“Look,” he hisses, pointing to a booth near the windows. “Isn’t that Mark?”

Jaemin cranes his neck. It _is_ Mark, and he’s not alone either — sitting with him is another boy with honey-colored skin, waving his hands animatedly while talking about something enthusiastically.

“Do you think they’re on a date?” Jeno wonders. “I hope so. They look good together.”

“Maybe,” Jaemin replies. He knocks Jeno’s shoulder playfully. “You know, that’s the look he used to get when he was texting you. Then I’d call him out on it, and he’d try to play it off like he wasn’t texting anyone important.”

Jeno huffs, amused at the sour undertone in Jaemin’s voice. “Don’t tell me you’re still jealous of Mark,” he says.

“I’m not jealous,” Jaemin says, pouting. He drags Jeno off with him once their orders are done, reaching down and linking their fingers together. “I’m just saying we could’ve been doing this a whole month sooner if he wasn’t so damn secretive.”

“True,” Jeno snarks back. “A whole month earlier.”

“More than I got in the last two lives combined,” Jaemin mutters, and a wave of guilt rushes up in Jeno.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He pauses in the middle of the sidewalk, lightly tugging on Jaemin’s hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jaemin smiles, looking up at Jeno, but his eyes are sad. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’d do it again if it meant even one more day with you.”

_I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me._

“No, no, no,” Jaemin says, on the verge of hysteria. “Please. Not like this.”

It’s raining, fat droplets of water that soak them to the bone. Around them, the sounds of gunfire and cannons continue, a reminder that the world wouldn’t stop spinning just because of them.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me,” Jaemin cries. His tears mix with the rain, and his hands, still shaking, press harder against Jeno’s wound. “We need to — I need to get you to a doctor.”

The white flag on his uniform is mocking, just another reminder that they were supposed to be sworn enemies. That white had been all Jeno had seen before he had thrown a grenade over in Jaemin’s direction, ducking from the ensuing explosion. Then, Jaemin, managing to avoid the jaws of death, had stood up and shot Jeno straight in the chest.

Jeno had gone down immediately, and it was only later, when Jaemin had snuck over to take his weapons, that he had seen the face underneath the helmet.

“Jaemin,” Jeno whispers. His chest heaves painfully. “Look at me. It’s too late.”

“I _shot_ you,” Jaemin says, anguished. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you have,” Jeno says gently. It hurts to breathe, now, but he focuses on inhaling and exhaling steadily. “This is our duty. It’s not your fault.”

“I love you,” Jaemin whispers, “and now you’re going to die because of it.”

“Don’t,” Jeno says angrily, forcing himself up. Jaemin reacts instantly, moving an arm underneath him. “Na Jaemin. _Listen to me_. We’re fighting a war, and you shot an enemy soldier. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He breaks off, coughing, and Jaemin’s eyes widen in horror at the traces of blood.

“Stop talking,” Jaemin begs. “You’re bleeding too much.”

Jeno ignores him.

“Na Jaemin,’ he says, eyes blazing. “I love you. I’ll never stop either, so stop beating yourself up over this.” He grips Jaemin’s hands with the last of his strength. “Promise me you’ll forgive yourself.”

“I promise,” Jaemin says, tears sliding down his face.

“Good,” Jeno says fiercely, before his fingers loosen and his breaths even out to silence.

Jaemin sobs then, loud, ugly cries of pain. _I’m sorry I lied_ , he thinks desperately, hands shaking as he reloads his gun. _I can’t live another life without you._

Another shot rings out, ignored in the cacophony of bloodshed around them, and Jaemin slumps over Jeno.

It doesn’t stop raining. Their story ends, for now, but the sounds of gunfire continue, and the war goes on.

_But when all’s said and done, I’d rather surrender to you in other ways._

It’s too hot, Jeno thinks dizzily as Jaemin twists underneath him, mouth open in a silent cry. Why is it so hot?

“ _Move_ ,” Jaemin whimpers, kicking weakly at Jeno.

Jeno obliges, pulling out and thrusting back in, and Jaemin moans shamelessly. His fingers scramble for purchase on Jeno’s back, cries growing louder and more high-pitched as Jeno speeds up, driving into him desperately.

“How can you be so perfect,” Jeno mumbles against Jaemin’s mouth, “just like you were made for me.”

“For — for you,” Jaemin stutters, voice breaking. “You too — ah — always feel so good.”

Jaemin is hot and wet around him, lips glossy and swollen, eyes squeezed shut, and hair pillowing around his head like a halo. He looks like every single one of Jeno’s wet dreams come to life, sinful and tempting, and Jeno mouths his way down to bite at Jaemin’s clavicle.

Jaemin’s hips jerk upwards uselessly, sobbing as Jeno curls his tongue over the bruise and _sucks_.

“Please,” he begs, tightening around Jeno to the point that it’s almost painful. “Please, Jen, ‘m so close.”

And Jeno can never deny him anything, so he slides a hand down and starts jerking Jaemin off, leaning in and swallowing his cries with his mouth. “Baby,” he says, and Jaemin whines, stomach tightening. “You’re doing so well.”

Jaemin cries, eyes glassy with tears, a litany of Jeno’s name and _please_ falling from his mouth, and Jeno feels a curl of dark satisfaction that Jaemin can’t think hard enough to say anything else. He tightens his grip, speeding up, and Jaemin lets out a long moan. 

“Wanna come?” He asks conversationally, twisting his fingers the way he knows Jaemin likes it.

“Yes,” Jaemin pleads. He sobs when Jeno slows, leaning in and whispering, “try again.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jaemin says, legs trembling. “Yes, Jen, please.”

“That’s better,” Jeno says. “Come then.” He digs a finger into the slit, and Jaemin _mewls_ , shivering and coming all over his stomach. Jeno doesn’t stop, though, and little sparks of pleasure bordering on pain shoot through his body.

“Jen,” Jaemin whines, toes curling from oversensitivity as Jeno continues pounding into him, thrusts getting rougher as he gets close. “Come on, come in me, please, fill me up.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jeno hisses, hips stuttering as he comes. “The mouth on you, baby.”

He pulls out slowly, sliding two fingers inside before come can drip onto the bed, and Jaemin twitches weakly.

“Jeno,” he groans, shifting restlessly as Jeno presses lightly, probing against his walls. “Don’t tease.”

“Sorry,” Jeno says, not apologetic at all, before pressing against his prostate, hard.

Jaemin jerks at the sensation, tears coming to his eyes again. “I don’t — I can’t,” he whispers, but his cock, already half-hard again, dribbles a little onto his stomach. The pillow underneath his head is wet with tears, and he looks up, whimpering at Jeno’s expression.

“I think you can,” Jeno says evenly, and Jaemin shudders as his hand twists. “Let’s see who’s right, shall we?”

Jeno ends up being right, as always, when Jaemin comes a few minutes later, sobbing painfully and twisting away from his hands.

“I hate you,” Jaemin whines, after Jeno finally pulls his fingers out and cleans them both off. “You always make it so embarrassing.”

“Feel free to tell me if my performance was unsatisfactory,” Jeno says cheekily, smiling into Jaemin’s hair. “Should I send you a survey?”

Jaemin pushes at Jeno weakly, pouting. “You’re making fun of me again,” he huffs, too tired to argue properly. “You know what I mean.”

Jeno laughs, pressing a kiss to Jaemin’s forehead. “Next time, I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

“What I _want_ ,” Jaemin grumbles, “is to not be sore in the morning, for once.”

Jeno laughs, startled, and he feels rather than sees Jaemin’s answering smile. 

“Sleep,” Jaemin declares, throwing one leg over Jeno’s and snuggling in closer. “I’m tired. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams,” Jeno whispers back, brushing Jaemin’s hair. “I love you.”

Jaemin, half asleep already, hums. “Love you too,” he mumbles, before his head droops onto Jeno’s chest, asleep again.

_Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder: Is this the last time?_

“Come _on_ ,” Yangyang complains. “There has to be _someone_ in here that you find attractive, right?”

Jeno groans. “Yangyang, I am literally begging you to drop it,” he says, dropping his face onto the table. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood,” Yangyang mutters, and Jeno shoots him a nasty look. “What? You know I’m right.”

“What you need,” Yangyang continues, “is to put yourself out there. Find someone cute. Literally anyone, okay? It could be the next person who walks in here. Just go up to them and flirt.”

“You’re not gonna drop it until I talk to someone, are you?” Jeno asks hopelessly. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Not coming,” Yangyang says flippantly. He points a finger at Jeno. “Today is all for you, Lee Jeno, so you better get started. We didn’t spend an hour getting ready for nothing to happen.”

Jeno side-eyes Yangyang. Yangyang stares right back, unimpressed. “Chop chop.”

“Fine,” Jeno grumbles, pulling himself up reluctantly. “The next time that door opens, I’ll go.”

“Perfect,” Yangyang says, clapping his hands together excitedly. “You’re going to kill it. Do you want me to help? I’ll go with you, just in case they’re gross and you need an out.”

Just then, the door swings open, and a group of three or so people come in, talking and laughing. From a distance, it’s hard to tell who’s who, but one of them heads towards the bar while another two girls find a table on the other side of the room. Jeno closes his eyes, resigning himself to some awkward flirting (read: utter embarrassment, and also potential blackmail material), before getting up and striding purposefully towards the two girls sitting down, Yangyang following closely behind him.

“Hey,” he says when he gets there, flashing them a smile. “Is this seat taken?”

One of the girls looks up and elbows her friend, shaking her head fervently.

“Not at all,” she says, blushing lightly. “Our friend is just getting us some drinks, if you want to sit?”

Jeno sits, Yangyang sliding in after him. “So, where are you from?” He asks.

“SMU,” the girl replies. “I’m Euna, and this is Haewon.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jeno says nicely. “I’m Jeno.” He points to Yangyang. “Yangyang.”

Yangyang takes one look at Euna’s face and leans into Jeno.

“She clearly likes you,” Yangyang murmurs quietly. “Don’t mess this up.” He sits back and turns to Haewon. Jeno kicks him underneath the table, and he kicks back, glaring at Jeno.

“Don’t mind him,” Yangyang says cheerily. “So, Haewon, what major are you in?”

Jeno turns reluctantly back to Euna, who’s looking down at the table. “I get it if you’re not interested,” she says, smiling a bit sadly. “A guy like you must have a girlfriend. She’s very lucky.”

“Oh,” Jeno says, eyes widening. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Euna visibly brightens, looking up. “You don’t? So you’re single?”

Just then, a throat clears, and she looks up, startled.

“Oh, you’re back!” Euna says, giggling nervously. “How long have you been there? Jeno, this is Jaemin.”

Jeno freezes, looking up. There Jaemin is, drinks in hand, with his shirt half unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. His hair is a bright blue, and Jeno swallows dryly, because he looks _good_. Even knowing that they’re in a club, Jeno can’t help but wonder if he’d gotten all dressed up for something or someone, lips glossy and eyes soft and smoky. He wants to tug Jaemin over by his stupid collar and kiss him until his mouth is red and swollen and begging for mercy.

But Jeno can’t until he knows more — if Jaemin remembers, if he has someone else, or if he even likes boys at all. His fingers flex helplessly, digging into the leather of the booth as he stays seated. It would be torture of the worst kind, he thinks, if he has pretend to be interested in someone else when Jaemin is _right beside him_.

Jaemin’s lips turn downwards slightly as he sets the drinks down.

“Not long,” he says shortly, crossing his arms and looking directly at Jeno. “Go on. _Are_ you single?”

Jeno’s heart jumps at the blatant jealousy in Jaemin’s eyes, and he stands slowly.

 _What the fuck_ , Yangyang mouths from beside him. Jeno ignores him.

“Nana,” he says softly, taking a risk, and when Jaemin cracks, lower lip trembling slightly, he reaches out, tugging at his hand.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

Jaemin looks up, eyes watery.

“Of course I’m not single,” Jeno says fondly. “I have you.”

_Is that really you?_

Yangyang is the first one to break the silence.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“We met a long time ago,” Jeno says, smiling faintly. “But I haven’t seen him in forever.”

He tugs Jaemin down into the booth, and they sit, three pairs of eyes staring curiously at them.

“You’re telling me that not only are you dating someone,” Yangyang says, still in disbelief, “but that you’re dating _him_?”

“Hey,” Jaemin says, eyes narrowing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Yangyang flounders, clearly at a loss for words. “Well,” he says hesitantly. “You’re…really attractive.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “So?”

His fingers tighten around Jeno’s. “I hope you’re not implying that Jeno’s not hot as fuck, because he definitely is.” His eyes flit over to Euna. “Pretty sure I’m not even the only person at this table who thinks so.”

Jeno snorts, Euna blushes bright red, and Yangyang chokes on his drink.

“Wow,” Yangyang coughs. “I take it back. I can definitely see it.”

“Jaemin,” Haewon cuts in softly, looking at them curiously. “How come you’ve never mentioned Jeno?”

Jaemin swallows. “It’s a long story.”

“It’s not _that_ long,” Jeno says consideringly. “The first time I remember meeting him, he hated my guts.”

Jaemin’s mouth drops open. “Are we seriously going to do this here?” He asks disbelievingly. “I didn’t even know who you were!”

“Then we met again,” Jeno says, ignoring him. “And he finally realized he didn’t hate me.”

“It was a lot better than you make it sound,” Jaemin grumbles. “He worked at a library and I visited him almost every day.”

“Mmm,” Jeno says. “Then he started dating this other girl.”

Jaemin flushes. “I don’t even remember that.”

“I do,” Jeno says, smiling knowingly at him. “A different girl each time. You broke my heart, you know? I moved away after that, and we didn’t see each other for a long time.”

“Then we met again in school,” Jaemin says, nostalgic. “What a good time. That’s when we started dating.”

“Officially, I guess,” Jeno agrees. “I think I’ve been a little in love with you since the beginning, though.”

Jaemin softens, looking up at Jeno. “I was too,” he says gently. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

Yangyang frowns. “If you guys started dating in school, then why didn’t either of you say anything until now?”

“Well,” Jaemin says lightly. “Jeno was being stupid once, and he left me.”

“For like…a trip?” Yangyang asks.

“You can say that,” Jaemin says, glaring at Jeno, who winces. “For the summer. And he never texted me, or told me anything. Just — nothing, for what felt like _ages_.”

“Wow,” Euna marvels. “That is kind of a dick move.”

“Right?” Jaemin exclaims. “Like, who just decides to leave without ever telling their boyfriend about their plans?”

“You know I would’ve stayed with you if I could,” Jeno says apologetically, squeezing his hand.

“Whatever,” Jaemin says, but he squeezes back, smiling slightly. “Basically, he hurt me. I hurt him. There was a lot of miscommunication going on, and we weren’t on great terms for a long time.”

“Then we fixed things,” Jeno says.

Jaemin snorts. “That’s one way of saying we fucked.”

“Jaemin,” Jeno groans, covering his face. “Please.”

“Anyway,” Jaemin says, rolling his eyes. “We worked things out, agreed to take things slow. Like, really slow. That wasn’t too long ago. And now we’re here.”

“And now we’re here,” Jeno says, lifting his head up and smiling at him. “Look at how far we’ve come.”

_And what if you’re already perfectly happy without me?_

“Did I really date so many girls back then?” Jaemin asks after everyone else has gone home, eyes wide. “I don’t think I remember much of that at all.”

“Yeah,” Jeno says softly. “One time you even got married. I was your best man.”

“No,” Jaemin breathes. “Jen. Why would you do that to yourself? Why — why didn’t you say anything?”

Jeno looks up at him, small and sad. “You were happy with her,” he whispers. “I’m happy when you’re happy.”

Jaemin’s breath catches in his throat at Jeno’s expression, and he swallows roughly. “We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?” He asks quietly. A single tear balances on Jeno’s eyelashes, and he reaches out to brush it away. “I hate it when you let yourself suffer.”

Jeno huffs wetly. “Telling you is always easier said than done,” he says, but he lets himself be held when Jaemin reaches out. “I always wonder if one day, you’ll meet someone better for you. That makes you happier than I do.”

“Never,” Jaemin says, arms tightening around him. “Listen.” 

His heart pounds in his chest — so, so desperately in love, and Jeno makes a small noise of amazement once he pays attention, fingers reaching out and tracing over his pulse. “That’s all because of you.”

He bends down, brushing their lips together gently. “I’m always happiest with you.”

_Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you._

Jeno lunges forward, and Jaemin shrieks, splashing towards him in an attempt to escape his grasp.

“Not — in the pool,” he whines helplessly as Jeno catches up to him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing them against the wall.

Jeno hums in response. The sun winks at them from above, catching the droplets on Jaemin’s neck, and Jeno bends down to lick them off. Jaemin’s skin is smooth and just a bit salty, and Jeno nips at his throat playfully when Jaemin shivers, legs tightening around Jeno’s waist.

“Seriously,” Jaemin says, pushing weakly at Jeno. “Not here. My fingers are gonna get all wrinkly.” 

His hair glows electric blue in the sun, and from below, the light scatters around him like a halo. “My angel,” Jeno murmurs against the hollow of his throat, pressing a soft kiss there.

Jaemin’s fingers curl around Jeno’s chin, and his eyes are soft and bright when he leans in, kissing Jeno’s cheek chastely.

“No, you,” he breathes, before his smile turns mischievous, splashing Jeno with a wave of water. Jeno growls, and he scrambles forward, peals of laughter ringing out as he darts away.

The sun shimmers over the pool, waves of light dancing on the water, but nothing — Jeno thinks — is quite as bright as Jaemin’s smile, carefree and beautiful.

_It's only fair, that I should be the one to chase you across ten —_

Jaemin holds up a sprig of mistletoe, expectant.

“Well?” He asks, flushing. “Aren’t you going to come over here?”

“Yeah,” Jeno says, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He pulls out the mistletoe that he had snuck into _his_ pocket earlier. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

Jaemin’s mouth opens slightly, staring at the mistletoe while the words process.

“If you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just said something,” Jeno says, eyes curving into the smile Jaemin loves. He comes closer, hands settling around Jaemin’s waist.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Jaemin grumbles, dropping the mistletoe and flinging his arms around Jeno’s shoulders. “It’s _tradition._ ”

“We’re buying more,” Jaemin murmurs later, pleased. “Gotta make sure every room gets in the holiday spirit.”

“Mmm,” Jeno says, backing them up. “Why don’t we start with the bedroom?”

_twenty-five —_

“Wait —” Jaemin says breathlessly, catching up to the handsome stranger from Starbucks. “You forgot this.”

Jeno turns, coffee in hand. Jaemin’s holding his bag and panting, clearly out of breath, like he’d run all the way from the store until now.

Jeno’s eyes widen, taking it from Jaemin’s outstretched hand. “Oh my god, I totally did. Thank you so much for coming all this way to give it back.”

“No problem,” Jaemin says, waving it off. He squints at Jeno. “Not to be weird or anything, but you look kind of familiar. Have we met?”

Jeno’s heart skips a beat. “I don’t think so,” he lies easily. He smiles. “But we have now. I’m Jeno.”

“Huh,” Jaemin says, shrugging. “Well, my name’s Jaemin.”

He tilts his head, dragging his eyes over Jeno and biting his lip slowly. “I could’ve sworn I’ve had dreams about someone just like you,” he says, smile curving prettily. He looks up at Jeno from underneath his eyelashes. “Let me take you out for lunch?”

_a hundred lifetimes —_

Jaemin crouches on the platform, quickly running through his parts in his head. It’s sheer chaos around him, staff scrambling to find Chenle’s shoes in the forty seconds they have left before they’re supposed to be let up.

“Where’s Jaemin?” A staff member asks, and he looks up, raising his hand.

“Here,” he says, and she visibly relaxes.

“Oh good, you’re ready,” she says, turning around. “Jeno?”

“Coming, coming,” Jeno yells distantly, jogging towards them while fitting one of his arms through his jacket. He slides onto the platform breathlessly. “I’m here.”

“Ten seconds left,” someone yells, and the panels above open up. Jaemin’s heartbeat kicks up as the cheers from outside get louder, and he exhales shakily, shoulder pressing against Jeno’s.

Even in the dark, Jeno’s eyes are warm and comforting, and he shifts closer, knowing what Jaemin needs without either of them even saying anything. Jaemin feels himself relax even as the countdown goes to zero, Jeno’s shoulder a comforting pressure against his.

The platform jerks, starting to move upwards. The lights cut out in the venue, and they all stand, pure muscle memory guiding their positions in the dark.

In the last few seconds before everything starts, Jaemin reaches out blindly for Jeno’s hand. Jeno’s fingers tighten around his, squeezing back silently.

Then the music starts, and everything afterwards blurs in an adrenaline-fueled haze. Through it all, though, Jeno is there, a steady presence that anchors him back down — and that, Jaemin thinks, is enough.

_— until I find the one where you’ll return to me._

**Author's Note:**

> i am.. such a slow writer.. this is the fastest i've ever written this much, and it still took me days T-T this was supposed to be a cute ~5k distraction from smth else im working on and nomin rlly just took over and did whatever they wanted rip
> 
> tell me which au was your favorite if you want !! they're all my Babies but i really like the first + second one together heh im a sucker for enemies to lovers @-@ 
> 
> anyway, im back off to what i was working on before this took over my life ahh (hint: renmin) (hehe)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this!!


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